


Coming Up For Air

by zade



Series: kinktober 2017 (oh god why) [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Asphyxiation, Bellamy has no excuse and is also an idiot, Breathplay, Choking, Daddy Kink, Explicit Consent, Guilt, Happy Ending, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Murphy has ptsd and is also an idiot, Oh also, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Safewords, Season/Series 02, also, but they aren't used, but very light, i wrote this in literally one day go easy on me, mentions of hanging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: Bellamy cleared his throat.  “You let me touch your throat, which means you already trust me.  I know I let you down before, but I promise I won’t this time.  You don’t have to take me up on this, but if you don’t you have to figure something out.  You can’t keep picking fights and making a menace of yourself, on the off chance it’ll make you feel something.”“Yeah?  And you’re going to what, guide me?  Teach me?”  Murphy’s hands were clenched into fists, and he was staring resolutely at Bellamy’s shoes.  “Do you want me to call you daddy, too?” he asked, all bluster and sarcasm.--written for kinktober day 18 prompt: daddy kink and masturbationalso written for the anon who asked me for another breathplay fic with actual fucking and also daddy kink





	Coming Up For Air

**Author's Note:**

> TURNS OUT I HAVEN'T RUN OUT OF BREATHPLAY PUNS YET
> 
> this fic contains: breathplay, daddy kink, masturbation, anal sex, mentions/references to Murphy being tortured and also to both of them being hanged, a super guilty Bellamy, and Murphy making bad decisions and also FEELINGS
> 
> unbeta'd, written in one day for kinktober but also for the anon who asked me for daddy kink and breathplay, so like if you wanna beta it for me let me know bc I've read it four times and I know I caught 0% of the typos
> 
> I hope the daddy kink is good bc I've read very little of it and never written it before!!
> 
> a gigantic thank you to threadandflowers who literally held my hand and explained how daddy kink works to me about seventeen times, and is a better best-ex than I could hope for

Bellamy was going to vibrate out of his skin. The appearance of armed adults with rules and cemented ideas of societal structures had wrenched the only power that Bellamy had ever had violently out of his hands, and with Octavia’s sudden-onset adulthood, he found himself sort of listless. The loss of control had only made him feel worse about the many not too great decisions he had made as a leader.

It didn’t help that Murphy was going to get someone killed. He had been at his worst for days, starting fights and standing up to the adults and running himself and everyone else ragged. And Bellamy didn’t entire blame him. Murphy was skittish around crowds, especially around the Grounders, and wary around the parents of those they killed. Murphy was going to get someone killed, and it was either going to be himself, or he was going to start a war. Either way, Bellamy had been given a lot of time to sit with himself, and mostly, he felt guilty about what they had done to Murphy, about his hand in shaping the person who Murphy became.

Not to mention the insatiable urge to help make him better.

Unfortunately, Raven wasn’t super receptive to his frustration (which she insisted on calling a crush, but what did she know). “Find someone else to stick your dick in,” she advised, not looking up from whatever complex mechanical work she was doing. “And get the hell out of my workshop.”

“Raven,” he whined, sitting down next to her. Whatever the Hell We Want had turned out to be a shitty motto, but the sheer freedom that they had been allowed for the first time in their lives had been transformational. Some rules were definitely better than no rules, but now there was nothing but rules and expectations, and a goddamn kaper chart, and Murphy, who alternated looking at him murderously and longingly.

She rolled her eyes, putting her tools down carefully, and turned to face him. “Bellamy,” she started, but was interrupted by Clarke bursting into the workshop. Raven immediately averted her gaze.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said also not looking at Raven, because Clarke was nothing if not tactful. “We need your help. Murphy got in another fight with the Grounders.”

Bellamy sighed heavily, standing up and giving Raven an affectionate shoulder pat, and ignoring the death glare she shot his way. “What happened?” he asked Clarke once they were outside.

“Not sure,” she admitted, leading him to the opposite side of the Ark. “One of them got him in a choke hold, and he just went berserk. They tried to take him to medical, but he wouldn’t go.” She stopped them outside the hall that led, indirectly, to the mess hall and to the adult quarters, and more directly to the brig. 

He bristled, sure that the adults had locked Murphy down again, and filled with an angry burning in his chest. “Where is he?” he growled, and Clarke clenched her jaw, not backing down.

“I heard my mother tell Kane that he’s out of control. That if he causes more conflicts with the Grounders, they’ll contain him. Or banish him.” She stepped towards him, all strength and gravitas and controlled ferocity. “I can’t have that on my conscious again. Can you?” She deflated somewhat, and grabbed Bellamy’s hand. “He listens to you.”

Bellamy scoffed. As if. “No, he doesn’t.”

Clarke squeezed his hand. “He used to. And he listens to you more than he does anyone else. He needs to listen, Bellamy. Make him listen.”

“Sure, like it’s that simple,” he muttered, sighing. “Should I make peace with the Mountain Men while I’m at it?”

Clarke smiled at him warmly. “That would be great, thanks.” She let go of his hand and gestured with her head to the opening of the Ark. “He’s in the brig, refusing medical attention. Help him, please.”

He turned away from her, facing the opening, apprehensive. He wanted to help Murphy, felt very deeply that they owed him, but was also furious at so many of things Murphy has done. “You believe in third chances, now?”

He heard her sigh, could imagine the pinched expression on her face, but didn’t turn around to check. “I think,” she said carefully, painfully aware that among the forty-eight her word was still law, “that we should stop keeping track.”

Bellamy nodded and put on his bravest face, starting down the hallway. He reached the doorway before the brig, ignored the armed guards staring him down, and walked directly into Abby.

Her face was set in a disappointed frown, like she thought after all they had been through, a little disproval was going to stop him. “Clarke sent you,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. He didn’t reply, overwhelmed with frustration at her, and she sighed. “There’s some water and bandages outside the cell. If he’ll let you bandage him, do it, please. And tell him to clean up his act. He’s becoming too much of a liability.”

He nodded at her sharply, too angry to respond without saying something he’d regret. She stepped out of the way, letting Bellamy into the brig. He stopped to the grab the medical supplies and then took a breath and walked in. Murphy was in the corner, bloodied and huddled, hands bound together in front of him in metal cuffs. A vivid ring of bruises was already blooming on his neck, his face and hands were bloody, and his lip and left eye were swollen.

“Shit, they did a number on you.” Murphy’s head shot up and when he saw it was Bellamy he sighed, deflating. Bellamy sat down across from Murphy and held the cloth up, like a question.

Murphy raised an incredulous eyebrow, but parted his hands like an invitation. “Be my guest,” he said, sarcastically, but without any real bite. His voice was hoarse, no doubt because of the vivid collar of fingermarks surround his throat, and Bellamy felt frozen for a moment, remembering kicking the box out from under Murphy. He hadn’t gotten to see the bruising then (the Grounders had taken him at that point), but he imagined it must have looked much the same, and ashamed nausea settled in his belly.

Bellamy took a deep breath and gathered his focus. He dipped the cloth in the water and began to clean the blood off Murphy’s brow and cheeks. Murphy hissed at the feel of the cloth on his cuts, but Bellamy was as gentle as he could be, not wanting to hurt Murphy anymore. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Murphy sneered and said, “The fuck is it to you? Go float yourself,” but there was very little heat in it.

Bellamy went for the hands, next, bandaging the cut knuckles and cleaning off blood. Thankfully, there were no broken fingers, which was good, because he still wasn’t able to get the sight of Murphy’s broken fingers post Grounder torture out his mind. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it a second time. It felt good, he realized, to be caring for Murphy, for Murphy to be letting him, but Bellamy tucked that thought in the back of his mind. “Kane and Abby aren’t too pleased with you.”

Murphy scoffed. “Not too happy with them either. Do you think they take constructive criticism?”

Bellamy snorted in spite of himself, and began to cautiously poke at Murphy’s collarbones and ribs, feeling, like Clarke had taught him, for anything that felt wrong or out of place. Lifting Murphy’s shirt, he saw an array bruises nestled among the scars, and he wondered if he could feel so guilty that he would combust. “Clarke told me you went ballistic on the Grounders.”

“I don’t like anyone touching my neck.” 

“Then you’re going to love this.” Gently, Bellamy felt around the bruising on his neck. Murphy swallowed hard, and Bellamy could feel it in his fingertips like a pulse. He pushed a little firmer, and watched Murphy’s eyes flutter closed. “Guess I’m not anyone, huh?”

Murphy’s eyes opened immediately, and he snarled, “Fuck you,” with more venom than he had heard from Murphy in months.

Something clicked, and Bellamy pushed a little harder against the bruising, watched the tension in Murphy’s jaw fade a little, even if the snarl hadn’t. “Is that it? Is that why you keep pushing back against the Grounders? You like being hurt?”

Murphy shook his head. “I keep pushing them, because they pushed me first. I’d like to see you go through what I went through, and then try and play nice.” He moved his neck forward a little, pressing into Bellamy’s hand. When he spoke, his voice was a little rougher, but he looked at Bellamy with such open want that it stole Bellamy’s breath. “You get it, right? You had that moment, too? When the box was kicked out from under you, and everything made sense for a moment? It hurt, but there was also this clarity, this single-minded focus, on just trying to breathe, to live, to fight. I want that, I want the focus back. I want to know that I can’t fuck anything up worse, that I don’t have any choices, so I can’t make any bad ones. And I don’t know how else to get there, other than hurt. It’s the only way I know how. You understand, right?”

Bellamy didn’t, entirely. He too had been filled with a sense of focus, but it had been on needing to keep Octavia safe, and kicking Murphy’s ass. He hadn’t felt oneness or a sense of self or anything like that, but he sort of understood how Murphy could have. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “I can see that.” 

Murphy practically melted, going lax, and not fighting as Bellamy washed the blood from his lips and dabbed around his swollen eye. “I thought you would.”

“I do,” Bellamy reaffirmed. “But you can’t keep doing this. You’re risking our peace with the Grounders for yourself.”

“What’s your suggestion then, your highness?” Murphy winced as Bellamy touched a particularly tender spot and Bellamy winced reflexively. So much for not hurting Murphy again. 

Bellamy lightened his touch and his tone. “Let me help you,” he said, and then hesitated, not sure if he had actually meant it. He owed Murphy, and he wanted Murphy to feel safe somewhere, anywhere. He was filled a horrifying and satisfying image of himself, buried inside Murphy, with his hands around Murphy’s neck, and Murphy’s eyes fixed on him, distracted and focused and desperate. Bellamy swallowed hard. Maybe Raven had been on to something when she had called this a crush. “You need something to focus you, and I need to be doing something.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “How noble. Do you think getting a pounding from you is going be to different from having my ass handed to me by a grounder?”

“Maybe you need a different kind of pounding.” Bellamy smiled, inordinately pleased with himself.

Murphy sniffed and swiped his cuffed hands across his nose, looking skeptical. “Yeah, uh, no. That’ s not going to happen.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, leaning closer to Murphy. “Why not?”

“Because, fuck you? You don’t give a shit about me anymore, and how is pretending going to help either of us?” Murphy dropped his gaze, staring at the ground and picking at a string on his pants absently.

Bellamy was ready to argue from the get-go, but got caught up on Murphy’s wording. “Anymore…?”

Murphy swallowed hard, and Bellamy was transfixed. When Murphy tilted his head back up, he caught Bellamy’s eyes, like a shot through the heart. “Nobody but my dad has ever cared if I live or die, but you cared enough to try and kill me.”

That was all kinds of fucked up. Bellamy sat back, dazed and struck to the bone. It was true, he supposed, he had cared very strongly about Murphy being gone, being dead, which wasn’t an especially flattering image of himself. He thought about Murphy, flailing helplessly in the air, staring at Bellamy desperately, and was a little ashamed of how into that image his dick was. When he found his voice, it was strained. “We need to talk about this. More. We need to talk about this more. Come to my tent tonight. I have a shift at the mess, but stay there until I get back.”

Murphy scoffed. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my real dad.”

“Murphy!” He barked, and then immediately regretted it when Murphy flinched. Bellamy took a deep breath, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “John,” he said, softer, and watched as Murphy calmed, warily. “My tent. Tonight, okay?” 

Murphy nodded, still guarded, still wary, and Bellamy hated that Murphy thought it was a trap. He lifted his hands up, jingling the metal. “What about these?”

Bellamy was pretty sure Abby would release Murphy if he agreed to some sort of community service and Bellamy vouched for his behavior. “I’ll get them to release you, okay? But go straight to my tent. Don’t cause any problems, okay?”

Murphy nodded again, a little more confident, and rolled his eyes, slumping backwards. “Fine. Whatever.”

Bellamy felt guilty to leave him, but he had things that needed doing, and if wouldn’t do to get them both in trouble with the adults. 

Bellamy got back to his tent way later than he meant to. A small kitchen disaster had ended with all available hands putting out fires and trying to salvage food and pots, and by the time he got to his tent, he has almost completely forgotten that he had told Murphy to wait there for him. He was a little bit surprised, lifting the tent flap, that Murphy was sitting there, picking at his nails (which still hadn’t grown back all the way) with a hand-made knife.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, but Bellamy knew enough now to know that it was all bluster.

“I’ve had some time to think,” Bellamy said, because he had. He had had enough time to think, make a decision, stress about it, and waffle back and forth about eight more times. “And I want to help you. I think I know what you need.”

“Didn’t realize you were a mind-reader.”

“I’m not.” All he had been able to think of, though, was the way Murphy’s eyelids had fluttered shut when his hand had been at Murphy’s throat, how capable he felt of stripping everything away from Murphy, and then putting him back together. “Here’s what I’m thinking: I give you what you need, take you out of your head. When you fuck up, I’ll let you know, we’ll deal with it, and that’ll be the end of it. When you do good, I’ll let you know that, too. All you have to do is trust me.”

Murphy laughed. “Oh, yeah, because my faith in you has never bitten me in the ass.” Murphy had come right at him for protection, had said his name over and over and over and over, had stared him down as he kicked out the box. He had a lot to make up for.

Bellamy stepped towards him, and the fact that he was standing with Murphy at his feet did not go unnoticed. “You let me touch your throat.”

“What?” Murphy was sneering, looking murderous and young and terrified all wrapped together.

Bellamy cleared his throat. “You let me touch your throat, which means you already trust me. I know I let you down before, but I promise I won’t this time. You don’t have to take me up on this, but if you don’t you have to figure something out. You can’t keep picking fights and making a menace of yourself, on the off chance it’ll make you feel something.”

“Yeah? And you’re going to what, guide me? Teach me?” Murphy’s hands were clenched into fists, and he was staring resolutely at Bellamy’s shoes. “Do you want me to call you daddy, too?” he asked, all bluster and sarcasm.

“Sort of.” Bellamy considered it. “And actually,” he said. “Yeah. If you want to.”

Murphy scoffed. “Fuck that.” He took a deep breath then asked, “When does this happen?”

“Whenever you need it,” Bellamy said, levelly.

“And who decides that?” Murphy spat. He was hard on the defensive, but Bellamy couldn’t entirely blame him. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about either, and he had spent the entire evening trying to make his words sound cohesive and not like a jumble of feelings, whereas Murphy had probably spent the evening feeling anxious and overwhelmed.

“Both of us. Either one. And if you don’t want it, you can always say stop, and we’ll stop.” Bellamy dropped into a squat, reaching out to lift Murphy’s head and look him in the eye. “If we try it, and it doesn’t help, then fine, we’ll be done with it, no harm, no foul.”

“If you just want to fuck me, you could say so. Wouldn’t even make you jump through this many hoops.”

Bellamy took a deep breath and tried to sort his feelings and ignore his interested dick. “I would like to fuck you. But that’s not all this is. I want to help you, to take care of you. To take on some of that responsibility, so you can take a breather.”

Maybe crush had been little mild for what he was feeling.

Murphy’s eyes were wet, red and swimming in tears. “Why are you doing this?”

Bellamy swallowed hard. “Because I should have cared more about you being alive than being dead. Because I want to help you.” He reached out and placed his hand gently on the bruises on Murphy’s neck. “John.”

Murphy sagged and leaned into the hand at his throat, quietly gasping for breath. His eyes fluttered shut and then he was crying, tiny hiccupping sobs. Bellamy was paralyzed for a moment, unmoving as Murphy tried to silence his tears and choked himself on Bellamy’s hand.

He dropped his hand—catching Murphy who was off balance without it—and pulled him in close. Murphy started to stiffen, but Bellamy said, “Relax, it’s okay,” and Murphy did, like putty in his hands. It was better than he had imagined it, having Murphy in his arms. He wondered for a second if it was healthy that the way he showed affection was by blindly trying to help people, but really with all that was happening, a little bit of overprotectiveness was hardly the worst thing that could happen to a person.

After a minute Murphy pushed Bellamy away. He wiped his face and laughed morosely. “Well, that was fucking pathetic.” 

Bellamy shook his head, but he knew better than to try and argue this with Murphy. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep. You can stay, if you want, and we can discuss this more in the morning.” Murphy lay down as far away from Bellamy as was humanly possible in the very small tent. Bellamy handed him a blanket and didn’t comment on it. He was so tired that he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the ground.

When Bellamy woke up, Murphy was already gone, which didn’t really surprise him, but still made him feel a little disappointed. He had been excited about the prospect of helping Murphy get out of his own head, had been excited to fuck him, too, if he was being honest with himself. Everything was so complicated and fucked up, but this seemed like it could have been easy, been an oasis in the desert of shit that Earth was.

He went to bother Raven again. 

“I think I fucked things up,” he told her, sitting down next to her at her workshop table.

She had a wrench in her mouth and was trying her hardest to ignore him. “I’m terrible sorry about this, please tell me more,” was probably not what she said, but the wrench distorted her words and Bellamy was going to keep talking either way.

“I was close to taking your advice but I fucked things up.”

Raven sighed heavily, and took the wrench out from between her teeth. “It’s Murphy, he’ll forgive you. He always forgives you, because he’s an idiot. If whatever you did last night was somehow less forgivable than actively trying to kill him several times, then he’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

Bellamy could feel himself blushing, which would have been embarrassing in front of anyone, but especially Raven. “How did you know? That I had feelings for him?”

Raven turned to face him and rolled her eyes, making sure he saw every moment off her incredulity. “My leg is busted, not my eyes, or my ears, or my common sense.” She turned back to her project. “You should be bothering him, not me.”

She probably had a point there. He didn’t stop to thank her, because he knew Raven would be happier with him if he didn’t acknowledged her help and just left. He wandered around the campsite for a while, but couldn’t find Murphy. He had to stop looking, eventually, to help haul firewood, and by the time evening fell he was disappointed, and wanted to avoid everyone who wasn’t Murphy.

He opened the flap to his tent and was surprised, for the second time, to see Murphy sitting there. He was huddled in the corner, biting his nails, which were still to short for that sort of abuse, and Bellamy wanted nothing more than to take his hand away from his mouth, so he did, and held it. “I was looking for you.”

“I maybe freaked,” Murphy admitted, a little too quickly. “A little. So I went to get some air, and there was a group of Grounders fighting and I got panicky, but you told me to behave myself so I just came back, but you weren’t here, and I—” Murphy’s breath was coming hard, panting and gripping at Bellamy’s hand.

“Woah, okay, take a deep breath, Murphy. Just stop.”

“C-can’t. I can’t.” Murphy’s free hand was at his chest, and he was getting clammy and shaky. A panic attack, then. He had experienced those with Octavia, but he wasn’t sure what worked for her would be universal. He decided to try anyway, with soft hands and firm words.

Bellamy grabbed Murphy’s chin, tilted it up so he could look him in the eyes. “Stop. I’m not giving you the option, John, I’m telling you to stop.” Murphy managed a single, deep breath, and Bellamy smiled at him. “Good, that’s good. You’re doing so well for me.”

Murphy whined, closing his eyes and burying his face in Bellamy’s chest as he tried to slow his breathing. When his breathing had even out, still hiding his face, Murphy said, “This is getting beyond pathetic.”

Bellamy took a deep breath to keep from sounding angry. “You’re not pathetic.”

Murphy snorted. “I’m pretty sure we’ve already determined that your opinions are awful and wrong.” He pulled back and his eyes were red and puffy. Between that and the bruising on his face and neck, the black eye that had darkened over night, he looked like hell. “Still wanna fuck me, ‘daddy’?” he said sarcastically, raising a eyebrow.

Bellamy reached up, cradling Murphy’s jaw in his hands. This, he was prepared for. This, in fact, had awoken him that morning with his boxers wet and stuck to him for the first time since he was sixteen. “Absolutely,” he said, rubbing his thumbs along Murphy’s jaw. “If you’re game, I’m going to fuck you, hard, with my hands around your neck. You don’t have to think about anything but breathing and getting yourself off.”

Murphy’s eyes were wide and he sucked in a harsh breath. He leaned into Bellamy’s hands and Bellamy could tell just from his body language that Murphy was hard in his pants. “I,” he stopped, swallowing past the lump in his throat and drawing Bellamy’s eyes the mottled yellow and purple and black splotches wrapping around his neck. He nodded. “Yeah. Uh, yes. I—yeah, yes.”

“Good,” Bellamy said. “I’m going to grab some things. Stay there.” Murphy nodded slowly, and Bellamy went to the bag he kept in the far corner of his tent, where he kept things he would need if he had to leave in a hurry. Chiefly, he was searching for a jar of bruise cream Clarke had made him, which was extremely greasy, and which she had assured he was easy to make and the materials plentiful, so he had made the executive decision to use it as lube. When he turned around Murphy was still exactly where he had left him. “You’re being so good for me,” he said, and watched Murphy’s breath hitch again.

Murphy looked up at him, bluster still firmly in place, but a little hunched and unsure. “Should I—do you want me to get naked, or what?”

Bellamy kept standing, liking the contrast between him on his feet and Murphy sitting by them. “You going to ask me politely, or do you need some correction?”

Murphy’s postured instantly improved, and his face morphed from hard to just apprehensive, which was honestly better than Bellamy thought he would get. “Can I please take my clothes off,” Murphy paused, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, “daddy?”

Hearing it went straight to Bellamy’s dick and he tightened his fist on the jar of lube to keep himself from reacting more. “I didn’t hate that,” he said to Murphy. “Did you?”

Murphy’s lips were pursed but he shook his head, still not looking at Bellamy. “I’m hating this conversation, though.”

“Okay,” Bellamy said, trying to calm his nerves. “We can work with that. You did good, John. Get naked for me.”

Murphy nodded, a little wild-eyed, and pulled his shirt off in a single fluid motion. His skin, despite all the exposure to the sun, was pale and a little freckled, but more than that, it was bruised and marred, with scars spiraling up and down his forearms and his chest (and no doubt back) littered with burns and knife lines and things Bellamy couldn’t identify, but wanted desperately to somehow retroactively prevent. “Is it…do I look okay?” He hesitated, then added, “Do I look okay for you, daddy?”

It broke Bellamy’s heart a little to hear him, but it was so easy to reassure him. “You look perfect, John.” He reached over to tangle his fingers in Murphy’s hair, which was in twists and pulled back from his face. “You’re doing so well. Want to finish undressing?”

Murphy nodded and Bellamy released his hair so he could stand and strip off his pants, and Bellamy joined him, stripping efficiently and reveling in Murphy’s eyes on him. Shit, Bellamy thought, I am going to take such good care of him.  
Murphy eyes fixed on Bellamy’s cock and then he dropped to his knees, which took Bellamy from Pretty Hard to Very hard, but still. Murphy had begun to look almost comfortable, but now there was tension back in his muscles. He reached towards Bellamy’s dick, but Bellamy took a step back, out of his range.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said softly, watching Murphy’s face carefully. “If you don’t want to do something, you don’t have to.” He squatted down so they would be at eye level, and wove his fingers through Murphy’s hair again. “Whatever the hell we want, yeah?”

Murphy’s face relaxed slightly, and he offered Bellamy a smile that was only sort of a smirk. “Can I kiss you, daddy?”

“Hell yeah,” Bellamy said, and then Murphy launched himself at Bellamy, wrapping his arms around Bellamy’s neck and pulling them closer together. His lip was still swollen and split, but he kissed like he meant to devour Bellamy, or like he thought Bellamy might disappear (or like he thought Bellamy could betray him again at any moment). His lips were so soft, softer than they should be considering the rough living on earth, and Bellamy wasn’t sure how he was ever going to be able to forget how amazingly soft Murphy’s lips were. Bellamy’s thighs were beginning to burn from the position, so he pushed Murphy back, easing him onto the groun until he had Murphy lying beneath him, still clinging and kissing and panting hard into Bellamy’s mouth.

Bellamy could feel Murphy getting harder beneath him, and he smiled into the kiss, pulling back to see Murphy’s lips wet and kissed-pink. It was better than he had imagined it to be, Murphy vulnerable and wanting and Bellamy was so excited to wrap his fingers around Murphy’s throat and— 

“Can I fuck you, John?”

Murphy laughed. “I’m pretty sure we already established that. Yes.”

Bellamy tapped his hip lightly, a gentle smack. “Don’t be a brat, John.”

Murphy smiled broadly, but even that looked a little snide. “Can’t help it, daddy.”

Bellamy snorted. “Gonna have no choice but to help it once I’m choking you out.” Murphy moaned, taking a couple of hard breaths. “I’m gonna stretch you out now, John. You gonna be good for me?”

“I’m gonna try,” Murphy said, and that was also better than Bellamy was expecting. He liked it better that Murphy was being honest than trying to impress him. 

“Good. Keep your hands by your head for now.” He pressed a kiss under Murphy’ jaw, then wiggled his way down Murphy’s body, pushing his knees out of the way and opening the jar of bruise salve. “Have you done this before?” Bellamy asked as he gathered the salve on his fingers.

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Yes, dad,” he said, snarky and brilliant.

Bellamy laughed, leaning in to kiss Murphy’s thigh. “Then cut the cheek and relax for me, John.” Murphy nodded, and so Bellamy pressed his first finger to Murphy’s ass, spreading the lube around the rim and pushing in, in slow shallow thrusts. By the time Bellamy’s first finger was buried deep, Murphy was already getting restless.

“For fuck’s sake, Bellamy, I’m not breakable.”

Bellamy fixed him with a very unimpressed look. “I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am.” He pressed another conciliatory kiss to Murphy’s thigh, and started easing in a second finger. “If you need something, you let me know. If you’re unhappy, you let me know. Otherwise you let me be good to you.”

Murphy nodded reluctantly, gripping his hair with both hands as he tried to fuck down onto Bellamy’s fingers.

Bellamy knew he was moving slowly than he really need to, but he loved the contrast of taking so much care with Murphy and simultaneously making him crazy. He spread his fingers, smearing the lube as deep as he could before pulling them out, rewetting them, and adding a third as Murphy bucked back onto them. Murphy bit his lip with a snarl, and Bellamy knew he should tell him to stop, but he looked so good, so contained and vulnerable and ferocious, and Bellamy’s.

At least for right now.

“Ready for me, John?” Bellamy asked, slicking himself up and lining himself up with Murphy’s ass, lifting Murphy’s legs to wrap around his hips. He rested his thumbs in the divots by Murphy’s hips, and they fit in the impressions like handholds, like Murphy was molded for him, and he was overcome with affection.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” Murphy hissed, and Bellamy pushed into him in one long thrust. Murphy’s hips stuttered as he lifted them to meet him, wriggling like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be on Bellamy’s dick or off it, and it was intoxicating. “Fuck,” he said. Bellamy stilled, letting Murphy get used to him, but Murphy scoffed. “Are you going to fuck me, or are we going to sit like this and talk about our feelings?” He was slightly breathless, and Bellamy was so ready to hear him completely breathless, desperate and wanting.

“What do you want?” he asked Murphy, moving one hand to the ground by Murphy’s shoulder to hold him up, and spreading the other one gently across Murphy’s throat.

Murphy’s eyes closed when the hand made contact, sighing and relaxing, spread out under Bellamy, soft and lax. “I don’t want to have to think.”

Bellamy leaned in, pressing his lips to Murphy’s again. Murphy kissed back hard, whimpering and tugging at his own hair, but keeping his hands in place because he was so good for Bellamy. “You got it, baby,” he said, and pressed his hand down harder. Murphy moaned, immediately trying to swallow against Bellamy’s hand, and meeting resistance. Scooping some more salve from the jar, he spread it carefully along Murphy’s dick. “Here’s the deal, John: when my hand’s on your neck, you’re going to have one hand on your dick. When I take my hand away, you take your hand away, and this doesn’t end unless you end it or you cum, got it?”

Murphy nodded, leaning his head back and bearing his throat to Bellamy’s hand. He loosened a hand from his hair and reached down slowly to his dick, breathing slowly and shallowly against Bellamy’s hand.

“Shit,” he said, “you are so good for me, John.” Murphy moaned and Bellamy began to thrust, slowly, easing Murphy into it. He rocked his hips gently pressing kisses to Murphy’s jaw and slowly increasing the pressure on Murphy’s neck until he was gasping hard, pulling frantically at his dick, even as Bellamy continued his same, slow thrusts.

“Fuck!” Murphy hissed, throat hoarse and compressed and strangled sounding, and so, so hot. He hadn’t been able to speak when they’d hanged him, gagged and defenseless, which was a positive only in that it kept Bellamy from being more guilty at how much he liked the sound. “Daddy, please.”

“Shh.” Bellamy pulled his hand away, and was so pleased so see Murphy fling his hand away from his dick, gasping and shaking. “Shit, Johnny, you’re doing so good.”

Murphy loosed a needy whine, squeezing his legs harder around Bellamy’s waist. “Tell me again?” he said, hoarse and quiet.

Bellamy kissed his neck, all long the bruising, pausing between kisses to say, “You’re perfect. You’re so good. Being so good for me, so perfect.” Murphy’s cock jumped, wet and hard and reacting to Bellamy’s words, which was so hot Bellamy had to pause his slow thrusting to think some very not-sexy thoughts, most of which involved Jaha or Kane. “Ask me to do it again.”

“Fuck you.” Murphy moaned, leaning up and kissing Bellamy again, desperate and wanting. “Choke me again? Please, daddy?”

“Anything for you,” Bellamy said. Murphy’s face stayed the same, but his eyes became teary, and his cheeks went red, and Bellamy really would do anything for him. He put his hand back down across the top of Murphy’s throat, applying more pressure. Murphy moaned, grasping his cock again and stroking it firmly, and it was such a hot image that Bellamy had to spend a moment taking deep breaths and acknowledging how gay he was.

Murphy’s face was turning red, and his eyes, which had been watering before, were streaming tears now as he choked in breaths. His open hand grasped at Bellamy’s wrist, and for a moment Bellamy thought he was going to pull Bellamy’s hand off, but instead he tried to pull it in closer to his neck. Bellamy tsked, and Murphy’s expression turned plaintive.

“Please,” he choked out, then gasped.

Bellamy shook his head. “Put your hand back, John.” He used his authoritative voice, the same one he had used to talk so many of the delinquents into really terrible ideas, but Murphy’s eyes lit up, even as he moved his hand back to his hair. “You close, baby?”

Murphy nodded shakily, so Bellamy removed his hand again, relishing in Murphy’s despairing moan as he released his dick. Bellamy started fucking into Murphy harder.

“You’re doing so good for me, John. Can’t believe you’re just letting go, keeping yourself on edge for me. You are doing exactly what I asked you to, and you’re so good.” While Murphy tried to breathe and calm his thudding head, Bellamy kissed him insistently, not letting him catch his breath enough, making him still gasp and shake and suffer. Murphy was still breathless when Bellamy asked, “Again?” and Murphy nodded so enthusiastically that Bellamy laughed. 

He put his hand back at Murphy’s throat, pressing and holding Murphy down. Murphy’s hand was back at his dick, and he was rocking himself back onto Bellamy’s cock, choking himself further with each thrust. Bellamy was reaching the end of his restraint, and realistically, he was either going to have to make Murphy cum quickly, or he was going to have to cum first.

Murphy’s harsh breaths weren’t helping matters, either. He was in control, in control of someone so strong and belligerent and resilient as Murphy; Murphy, who was letting Bellamy fuck him and choke him, and make him cum. Bellamy had had dreams that felt more based in reality than this.

He was getting close when Murphy, no louder than a whisper, said, “Can I cum, daddy? Please?”

Fuck every single dream Bellamy had ever had, this was it from now on, this was the exact moment he was going to wank to for the rest of his fucking life. He opened his mouth to reply, torn between saying yes, of course, and making Murphy wait longer, keep him stuck in that beautiful in-between place for as long as he could, when a loud clattered startled them both.

It was the sound of metal, and then of flesh hitting the ground, and Murphy was tensed up even before a voice was a yelling, “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim!” Murphy’s whole body tensed, eyes going wild, and his tensing was like a sudden vice around Bellamy’s dick (and was a much more effective way of staving off his orgasm that Kane’s disappointed face). He pushed down harder around Murphy’s throat, not letting up.

Murphy stiffened further. “Bell—” he hissed, but it wasn’t a stop.

“No,” he said, nudging his cock as far in and out of Murphy as he could through the intense pressure.

“Bell!” Murphy rasped more insistently. The hand that was meant to be on his cock shot out and gripped Bellamy’s shoulder, tight.

Bellamy took a deep breath, struggling to focus on words and also Murphy’s well being. He stopped moving his hips for the moment, focusing on Murphy’s face instead. It was paler than it had been, but Bellamy was certain he wasn’t pushing hard enough for Murphy to be in real danger. 

“Are you saying stop, John?” He waited, watching Murphy’s face scrunch up with anger or fear, or both. “Baby, are you asking me to stop?”

Murphy arched into Bellamy’s hand, gasping desperately, and shaking his head with such force it moved Bellamy’s entire arm.

Bellamy leaned down and kissed him gently, easing him back onto the ground. “Then you don’t have to worry about that. It’s not your concern. Your only concerns are my hands on your throat, and your hand on your cock.” 

He kissed Murphy, overwhelmed again with his feelings. He didn’t want Murphy to feel afraid like that, ever. He had seen fear, real fear, had raised Octavia on it, but that hadn’t turned out well, either. He was sick of people he cared for being overcome by fear, and apparently that group of people included Murphy now. He wasn’t entirely sure why that surprised him.

“Put your hand back on your cock, John.” Murphy did, staring directly in Bellamy’s eyes as he struggled for breath. “Good. I’m not taking my hand off your throat until you cum, so you better cum before you pass out.” Murphy’s hand moved faster and his muscles slowly began to relax, allowing Bellamy to fuck him again, easing into it slowly. “You’re exactly where you are meant to be, there’s nothing else you need to but breathe and make yourself cum. You’re doing so well, John. I’m proud of you.”

Murphy’s legs squeezed around his waist, abs rippling as he clung to Bellamy, stroking himself with quick, short motions, wheezing. His eyes were locked on Bellamy’s, though, and it took his breath away.

He pressed a few soft kisses along Murphy’s jaw. “If someone tries to hurt you again, John,” he said in Murphy’s ear, “you come to me and I’ll fucking destroy them. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Murphy pulled in one more desperate gasp, and then he was quaking, shaking his way through his orgasm and squeezing so tightly around Bellamy, that Bellamy barely had a chance to take his hand off of Murphy’s neck before he was cumming, too. He collapsed on top of Murphy, who was sucking in deep breaths, but whose face was calm. Murphy was smiling tentatively at Bellamy, who rested his head on Murphy’s shoulder and stared him right in the eye.

“That was super gay,” Murphy said, voice scratchy and soft, but full of mirth.

“The definition of gay, in fact.” Bellamy reached up to move some hair out of Murphy’s face. “Did it help?”

Murphy shrugged, but then nodded and reached over to Bellamy’s face, touching him gingerly on the cheek. It was tentative, like he didn’t know if Bellamy would accept the contact, like Bellamy wasn’t growing soft in his ass while they spoke. “More than anything else I’ve tried.”

Bellamy smiled into Murphy’s neck, embarrassed at how glad that made him. “Good. We can keep doing it, if you like.” 

Murphy laughed. “Okay, but if you ask me to call you daddy in public, I will murder the shit out of you.”

“I’ll hand you knife.” Bellamy tried to sit up to pull out of Murphy and maybe clean them up, but Murphy’s other arm had curled around his waist at some point, and he was moored to the spot. That was sort of okay with him, though, so he didn’t fight it.

“So is this like a thing, now?” Murphy asked softly, tilting his face away from Bellamy so Bellamy couldn’t read his expression.

Bellamy thought about it. He wasn’t opposed to it, to Murphy coming to him with problems, to fucking and caring and helping, and to Murphy kissing him with his soft pink lips whenever he wanted. “It can be.”

Murphy swallowed hard, and Bellamy’s ear was close enough to his throat that he could hear it in all its nervous glory. “A thing with feelings?”

Bellamy’s pulse picked up quickly. He could see the blush on Murphy’s face, the blush that hadn’t been there when he was calling Bellamy daddy or being choked out, but came out now at mention of feelings. It was sort of adorable, if Murphy could be safely called adorable. “Do you want it to be a thing with feelings?”

Murphy turned back to Bellamy. His swollen eye made him look younger, more vulnerable. Here he was, hurt, asking Bellamy to not hurt him again. It was a big responsibility, but Bellamy was good at nothing if not rising to the occasion. “Yes. If you actually care about me, then yes.”

Bellamy did, he really did. He owed Raven so many favors but he cared for Murphy in a big, gross, gay way. “Then yeah, it can be a thing with feelings. Kiss me?”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you? Like a big protective shadow no one asked for.”

Bellamy grinned, leaning into meet Murphy’s lips for a kiss. Yes, he thought, he was going to be absolutely insufferable and Murphy was going to love it.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am gabe racetrackthehiggins and this month all i do it porn! if you want some porn, hit me up. there is also a link to my ko-fi on my blog, and you could maybe buy me a coffee if you like my work <3


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